The Things I Miss
by Griselda Banks
Summary: Oneshot. In the year after the Promised Day, Ed and Al have had time to get used to their real bodies again. Now they look back and compare what they used to have with what they have now.


**Author's Note: You know what I realized while preparing for this year's FMA Day? I've been a fan of this story for **_**half of my life.**_** I suppose it's no wonder, then, that it was effortless for me to slip back into these characters' heads after not writing anything for them for a whole year. These brothers are in my blood. This year, I wanted to explore a thought that's floated around in the back of my head for a long time. Let me know what you think!**

They decided to watch the sunset. Well, _decided_ maybe wasn't the right term for it. Winry had some sort of project in the back, so she'd abandoned them as soon as supper was over. Granny Pinako's arthritis had been acting up all day, so even Ed hadn't had the heart to let her deal with the kitchen on her own. He and Al ended up washing and drying the dishes, watching the summer sky slowly growing darker out the window above the sink.

While Al wiped down the counters and the table after the dishes were done, Ed wandered out onto the porch to watch the burning disc of gold slowly sinking towards the horizon. Then he glanced over at the ladder propped against the tree in the front yard, which he'd been using earlier to saw off a dead branch that had snapped but not fallen in the last thunderstorm. The task that would once have involved five minutes at most had taken him the better part of an hour—mostly because he was useless with tools and always ended up hurting himself. At least, that's what _Winry_ claimed.

On a whim, Ed walked over and grabbed the ladder that he'd been too lazy to put back in the shed, and leaned it against the side of the house instead. He climbed up to Winry's balcony, where he could stand on the railing and hoist himself up onto the slanting roof of the house. Winry and Granny always yelled at him that one day the railing would snap under his foot and he would fall and break his neck, but that was stupid. They didn't know he'd secretly reinforced the railing with alchemy ages ago. Who wanted to go to the bother of pulling down the ladder from the attic and climbing up the 'safe' way anyhow? And it had _nothing_ to do with struggling to reach the string that pulled open the trapdoor!

Ed rarely bothered with shoes this time of year, and the shingles were warm beneath his right foot. Their dark surface had been absorbing the sun all day long, and now radiated that heat into the evening air. He found a good spot on the peak of the roof and sat down, stretching out his legs and looking out at the rolling hills and farmland all around him. The sky was resplendent with gold and pink and red, as if a painter had splashed several bottles of paint all across the canvas of the sky. Cicadas and crickets tried to out-sing each other, and the breeze carried with it the smell of sun-warmed earth.

A soft clattering sound and a grunt of effort brought Ed's attention to the edge of the roof. Al hoisted himself up the same way Ed had come, panting a little as he carefully picked his way over to Ed's side. Ed tried not to tense up or rush to his side. Al didn't need babying anymore; he was nearly back to his normal strength at last.

When Al settled onto the roof next to him, they both sat in companionable silence, looking out at the sunset. As usual, they didn't need to say anything. It was enough to just sit there, enjoying the cool breeze that rippled the fields and rustled through the trees. This kind of simple enjoyment was still so novel to them both—nothing to worry about, nothing driving them both to desperation, no pain or fear besides the normal ups and downs of life.

Ed had been realizing lately that he hadn't actually imagined what this life would be like. Oh sure, he'd talked with Al about it before. They'd shared their hopes and dreams about what they would do once they got their bodies back. He'd thought plenty about the things he'd longed for while they'd been looking for the Philosopher's Stone. Three square meals of homecooked food every day. A full night's sleep, uninterrupted by nightmares or self-induced sleep deprivation. Peace and quiet rather than fighting for his life every time he turned around. A chance to just...live. And above all, the opportunity to see Al smile, to watch him sleep, to be able to hug him or tickle him or snuggle up under a blanket in the winter. All the things he'd been missing for so long.

It wasn't until the first stars had begun to shine in the darkening sky that Al spoke up. "It's all so different," he murmured, his voice barely louder than the cicadas.

Ed glanced over and saw Al sitting with his knees pulled up to his chest, his arms resting on top of them. It wasn't exactly a dejected posture, just a thoughtful one. "Different from...?"

"Armor."

Ed looked up at the sky, trying to imagine what the stars must have looked like to Al's disembodied soul, when he would gaze up at them every night that he couldn't sleep. "A good different, though, right?" he said, trying to push down the wave of guilt he still felt every time he remembered the hell he'd put his brother through all those years.

Al didn't respond, and a shard of ice crept into Ed's heart. Maybe it wasn't enough that Al had his body again. Maybe he'd _permanently_ damaged his little brother, and Al just didn't want to say anything...

"Sorry, Brother," Al whispered. "I'm being stupid."

Ed looked over in surprise. "What...?"

Al rested his chin on his knees. Because of the angle of the roof, that meant he was looking down at the ground. "It's...It's not that I'm not grateful. Really! I'm _so_ thankful for everything you've done for me. You gave up _everything_ for me, and I'll spend the rest of my life paying you back for that."

"No..." was the only word Ed could think to say. The last thing he wanted was for Al to feel indebted to the person who had ruined his life and barely managed to salvage it again.

"And...things _are_ better than when I was in the armor," Al continued, still not looking at him. "I'm so grateful that I can sleep again...eat again...that I can feel things again..."

"But?"

"I..." Al squeezed his eyes shut and hugged his knees tighter. He drew a deep breath, then said in a rush, "Sometimes I miss things about the armor!"

Ed gaped at him. "You _miss_ it?"

"I'm sorry!" Al groaned, running his hands through his hair. "That's really terrible, isn't it? I should just be grateful for what I have back, but...sometimes I...miss being able to stay awake all night without getting tired?" He glanced sidelong at Ed, as if checking for his reaction. "I used to get so much reading done...and I used to spend so much time looking at the stars. Now...I hardly ever do. I'm too busy sleeping." With a sigh, he stretched his legs out in front of him, parallel to Ed's. He ran a finger up and down the seam of his pants and mumbled, "That's pretty awful of me, isn't it? I mean...I used to complain about not being able to sleep, and now..."

"Sometimes I miss the armor too," Ed blurted. He felt a weird fluttering in his chest, like his heart was trying to fly out of his ribcage. He'd never admitted anything like this to Al before. He'd hardly admitted it to _himself._ It was too stupid for words that he could miss it when he knew Al had suffered so much in silence. After all of his promises, all of his sacrifices, now he wanted the armor _back?_

Al straightened up a little, looking at him full on for the first time since he'd climbed onto the roof. The sun had sunk completely now, but it would be a while before the moon rose, so it was harder to make out Al's expression in the darkness. But he could see Al's eyes opened wide with surprise.

Now it was Ed's turn to look away in shame. "I...I miss...waking up in the middle of the night...and you being there already. Awake. Ready to...tell me it was just a nightmare or get me a drink or whatever. Ohhhh, that sounds so selfish..." He pressed his hands against his eyes, hard enough that he could see swirls of color burst against his eyelids.

"I miss not getting hurt when I bump into things," Al said softly. "I mean...it's a good thing we don't get into dangerous fights anymore, 'cause I can't protect you like I used to."

Slowly, Ed let his hands drop again and looked over at Al, wondering if he dared to admit another thought he'd been trying to suppress ever since the Promised Day. But something in him was _dying_ to admit it, to just spit it out and not keep any more secrets from Al. "Sometimes I miss being able to turn my arm into a sword."

To his astonishment, the dim light reflected on Al's teeth as he smiled. "That _was_ pretty cool, wasn't it? I miss having a detachable head."

Ed grinned in response, his heart instantly lightening. "You used to scare the living daylights out of people with that! Oh, you know what I miss? I miss being able to punch people with a metal fist!"

"Brother, you're so violent," Al scolded. "What kind of role model do you think you are for your little brother?"

Ed's grin didn't falter. "I seem to remember _you_ punching quite a few people too, Al."

"Only because _you_ punched first."

"Pssh. _They_ were usually the ones who punched first."

"And you never had anything to do with provoking them either, I suppose?"

"Nope! Pure innocence right here."

Another easy silence fell between them, and they spent a few more minutes just looking up at the stars, tracing constellations with their eyes the way they used to do as kids. They'd never taken the time to do that while they'd been hunting for the Philosopher's Stone, had they?

"Well," Al said finally, "at least you don't have to deal with all that pain anymore, right? Or the maintenance, or breaking your arm all the time. It's not _all_ bad, right?"

Ed couldn't keep back a disbelieving chuckle. "'Not all bad'?" He reached over with his right hand and grabbed Al's, pulling it into his lap to lace their fingers together. "I can do _this_ now. And I can feel it."

Al scooted a little closer so he could lean against Ed's side. "I can feel it too," he murmured, squeezing Ed's hand. "I'll _always_ be grateful for that, no matter what."

"I'm...I'm grateful too," Ed mumbled. He didn't know exactly how to express everything in his heart, so he just held on tight.

They sat there for a long time, until the stars were bright against the black sky and all the lights had turned off in the house except for the one in Winry's workshop. Finally, when Al started nodding off on Ed's shoulder, they roused themselves to climb down before they could fall off. Instead of taking the ladder down and then having to go back through the house, they decided to sneak through Winry's room and into their own next door.

Ed and Al got ready for bed in the dark. The moon had risen, and bathed their room with light so bright they didn't need any inside. Ed had just closed the door behind himself and was turning towards his bed when he saw Al standing in the middle of the room, watching him. "What?" he asked, walking over.

The moonlight glistened on Al's hair, turning the gold to silver. He smiled softly. "There's one thing I _never_ missed when I was a suit of armor. It felt different—I mean, I couldn't _feel_ it at all. But I never missed it, because you made sure to keep doing it no matter what my body was like."

Maybe it was just because he was getting tired, but Ed couldn't figure out what Al meant. "Wait...what are you talking about?"

"This." Al stepped forward and wrapped his arms around Ed in a tight hug.

Ed's confusion melted away into a pool of contentment as he hugged his brother back. It was true—he'd made a point of continuing to hug Al all those years, even when Al couldn't feel it and it would be uncomfortable for Ed with all the cold metal and spikes. Because his baby brother deserved to know that he was loved, no matter what.

And that wasn't something Ed would ever miss or regret, because that was the one thing that never changed.


End file.
